Lone Figure
by I HEART JATAE
Summary: Um, I uploaded this last night, but it went all screwy on me and was unreadable, so hopefully it'll work this time. Uhmm.... a girl Remy was involved with reappears in his life, Bobby helps out, I suck at summaries. Just r&r, I'm quite proud of this sto


LONE FIGURE   
by GypsyJ   
  
A/N: Remy fanatics may not like this, but then again, they might love it... I doubt it, though. X-men belong to Marvel (no, really?), and most of the music doesn't belong to me. The song "Small Expectations" is mine, so you can't use it without my permission 'cause I'm a selfish bitch, though I don't know why you'd wanna use it 'cause it sucks. Amber and Linda are mine, and will not be used without my permission. The club is also mine, I suppose, but y'all can use it if you like. This fic was inspired by the song "You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morisette, so I guess I'm dedicating this fic to her, even if her voice drives me nuts. Comments can and will be emailed to gypsyj14@hotmail.com. Flames will be put back in the mailbox with a "Return to Sender" sticker on them. And... I have nothing else to say. Oh, except that my mom stole my trenchcoat from my room and my grandmother refuses to speak to me and is calling me "the Daughter of Satan". Whoop-dee-freakin'-doo.   
  
*****  
  
"What's this girls name again?" Bobby asked as he grabbed his car keys off the kitchen counter.   
  
"Ah don't remember," Rogue replied. "Ah just know that she's a fantastic singer, and that she plays ev'ry Friday at eight."  
  
"Oh." And with that, the X-men known as Rogue, Gambit, Jean Grey, Cyclops, Beast, and Iceman set out to see the weekly performance of this nameless singer.   
  
The building was what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse on a small sidestreet, and didn't look like anything special. Inside, however, was a very crowded bar with a stage towards the back. The room was an odd mix of people, a portion of which were obviously mutants.  
  
"What kind of establishment is this?" Hank asked, looking around the large room.   
  
"It's a bar exclusively for mutants," Jean informed him. "You can turn off your image inducer now."  
  
"Oh, yes, of course." Hank pressed a button on a discreetly-placed machine and his true physique showed through once more. Several people saw him and immediately started cheering. Hank looked confused as more and more people hollared at him wordlessly.  
  
"They've got a thing fer real visible powers," Rogue told him.   
  
"Too bad Warren didn't come along," Bobby said, smiling. The group sat down in a booth, waiting for the show to start. Rogue slipped her gloved hand into Remy's, and he smiled at her and squeezed her hand in response. There was music playing and a few couples were dancing, but most of them seemed to be there to see... whoever it was that was singing.  
  
"Ladies, gents, and whatever else is in here," the male announcer said into the mic on stage, "could I have your attention please!" Heads turned and the room went silent. "Thank you. Well, I'm sure our star performer'll be happy to know she's got a full house tonight!" The room was cheering all over again. "Alright, alright, simmer down. Hey, I said shut UP!" Silence once more. "Okay, without further ado, here she is, Linda Johanson!" Rogue could feel Remy tense up, and looked to see him go slightly pale and sink into his seat as the singer sauntered on-stage. Rogue frowned, trying to figure out what was wrong, and was about to ask when Linda spoke into the microphone.  
  
"Thank you, ev'ryone! 'Kay, I wrote a new one the other day, but first I'm gonna do some of my older stuff in a pathetic tribute to my fans who've loved me since the beginning." She began strumming the introductory notes of a song on the acoustic guitar that hung around her neck, and was soon followed by the house band.  
  
"You don't know, just what I can do.   
Say that I can't, 'cause I'm smaller than you.   
But when I want somethin', I'll do what I can.   
And I'll do it better, than someone bigger can."   
  
She wasn't the prettiest girl on the planet, but she had an absolutely stunning voice. She was short and stalky, with large, dark features, fair skin, and dirty blonde hair that hung limply to her shoulders. She wore a black tank top with baggy jeans and no make-up, making it seem as though she didn't care how she looked-- which she didn't. Low, soft, sad tones drifted through the speakers as she continued to sing.  
  
"Well I'm sick and tired   
Of these small expectations.   
I'm gonna fly high and I'm gonna fly strong.   
I don't want no more   
Of these small expectations   
'Cause I've been held down for way too long."   
  
She sounded angry, but the song had a sort of sad element to it. As if she'd been hurt, and was trying to cover it up by being a bitch. Remy continued to duck down low, apparently trying to hide from someone. Rogue finally couldn't take it anymore.  
  
"What's wrong, sugah?" Remy smiled his ever-suave smile, though it was a few watts lower than usual.   
  
"Not'in, chere."   
  
"It ain't nothin', Remy. Ah can tell when somethin's wrong."   
  
"It not important, amour. Remy used to know de girl, dat's all." Rogue nodded in understanding. It was an ex-girlfriend, and she had no desire to further pursue the subject. The song ended after a few minutes, and another started up. The show alternated between her own writings and cover songs, most of which were oldies. She finished after about an hour on stage, thanked them all for coming, and started packing up her guitar. Remy nearly knocked over the table, he got up so fast.  
  
"Whoa, slow down, Remy. Bobby said, eyeing the Cajun suprisedly. "Where's the fire?"   
  
"De fire's on stage, homme," he said quietly, "and we got to get away soon as possible. D'accord?" Bobby nodded in understanding and they all stood to leave.   
  
Linda was just about to step off the platform when she recognized a face in the audience. Her hazel eyes narrowed unsurely, trying to see if it was really him. It couldn't be-- could it? She smiled visciously. Yup, that was him all right. She stepped up to the microphone once again. "Hold up, yo," she said loudly. "Ev'rybody, sit your hyperactive little asses back down! I got one more song." Cheering and whistling. Ah, how her audience loved her. She waited for them to settle down, and watched as Remy's friends almost had to force him back down into his seat for one more tune. "I really should be getting back home by now, but I just saw an old... aquaintance of mine from quite a few years back. And as much fun as it would be to shine the spotlight on him right now and embarass the living hell out of him, I think it'll be more fun to leave y'all wondering who he is." She paused a few moments to relish the uncomfortable look on his face. "So, Remy LeBeau, you know who you are. And those people sitting with you, whom I can only assume are your friends, know who you are. Well, sweetie, this song is dedicated to you. Listen to the words, you lot, and I'll let you figger out the rest." She said something to the band behind her who nodded and got ready to play again.   
  
"I want you to know   
That I'm happy for you   
I wish nothing but the best for you both."   
  
Uh oh. That was an Alanis Morisette song. And when a girl sings an Alanis Morisette song, she is NOT a happy camper.  
  
"An older version of me, is she perverted like me?   
Would she go down on you in a theater?   
Does she speak eloquently, and would she have your baby?   
I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother."   
  
Her face had been twisted into a sneer on the last line. Yeah, she was definitely pissed. Bobby looked over at Remy. Normally, he would have thought it hilarious to see Remy in a situation like this, but Bobby had some sort of emotion he wasn't used to feeling about Remy. It wasn't the usual jealousy or I-told-you-so sensation. It felt more like... sympathy?  
  
"'Cause the love that you gave that we made wasn't able to make it enough for you to be open wide, no.   
And ev'ry time you speak her name does she know how you told me you'd hold me until you died, 'till you died?   
Well, you're still alive!   
  
"And I'm here to remind you   
Of the mess you left when you went away.   
It's not fair to deny me   
Of the cross I bear that you gave to me.   
You, you, you, oughta know!"   
  
Linda kept her eyes locked on Remy the entire time, using them to express the sheer rage and pain that surfaced every time she thought of him.   
  
"You seem very well.   
Things look peaceful.   
I'm not quite as well; I thought you should know.   
  
"Did you forget about me, Mr. Duplicity?   
I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner.   
It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced,   
And are you thinking of me when you fuck her?"   
  
The last two words had been dripping with venom, and she seemed to get angrier with every line. She glared at Remy, at the woman next to him, holding his hand. Sure, she was pissed that she could be replaced, but she had more pity for the girl than anything. ::She must be either ignorant or desperate,:: Linda thought as she belted out the angry lyrics.   
  
"'Cause the joke that you laid in the bed, that was me and I'm not gonna fade as soon as you close your eyes, and you know it."   
  
A malicious grin overtook her dark, worn features.   
  
"And ev'ry time I scratch my nails down someone else's back I hope you feel it. Well, can you feel it?!"   
  
She relished Remy's uncomfortable expression, the silent plea for forgiveness which he had to much pride to vocalize.  
  
"Well, I'm here to remind you   
Of the mess you left when you went away.   
It's not fair to deny me   
Of the cross I bear that you gave to me.   
You, you, you, oughta know!"   
  
She held Remy's gaze for a few seconds more, then looked away, smiling at the audience. "Thanks for comin', all, and have a good night!" She jumped down onto the ground, leaving her guitar propped against a stool. Remy stood rooted to his spot, knowing that she'd eventually catch up to him, no matter how fast he ran. "So, Remy LeBeau, ol' buddy," she said conversationally, giving a genuine smile, "how ya been?"   
  
"I been a'right," he replied smoothly, though he still sounded somewhat nervous. "An' you?"   
  
"Oh, I'm just peachy."   
  
"Um, maybe we should go..." Scott suggested.   
  
"Oh, no, stay. I'm just *dying* to know why you hang around with this guy," she gushed sarcastically, laying a reassuring hand on his forearm and continuing with her blindingly bright smile. Scott swallowed; this could only end badly. "So, whatcha been up to these past eight, nine years?"   
  
"Not much," he responded, wanting to leave this conversation as soon as possible. "How 'bout you?"   
  
"Oh, nothing too important," she said, shrugging. "Wrote a few songs, did a few shows, gave birth to your daughter-- you know, same ol', same ol'." Her expression went from cheerful and friendly to flat and disgusted. The X-men just gaped at her. She wasn't serious, was she? They looked at Remy for some kind of denial, but he was frozen, staring at her as if to say, "Why are you doing this to me?"   
  
"Linda, I--" he began, only to be interrupted as though he weren't talking at all.   
  
"You know, I always thought that when I saw you again, I'd either come running into your arms telling you how much I'd missed you, or kick your ass for leaving me at seventeen years old to raise a child on my own. But you know what?" She laughed a little and shook her head. "You're not even worth it." She turned around and walked back to the stage to get her things and leave.   
  
"Chere, wai--"   
  
"No!" she yelled, whirling around to face him again. "I am not your 'chere', I am not your 'amour'. I am not any of that French bullshit you feed out to get a girl in bed with you. I am not anything but a good lay to you, apparently." Her attention suddenly turned to Rogue. "What's your name, honey?"   
  
"R-Rogue," she answered anxiously. Linda nodded and turned back to Remy.   
  
"Look, I don't even *know* this Rogue chick, and I don't particularly care. But if you ever, EVER hurt her like you hurt me, I swear to fucking God I will hunt you down and kill you. Slowly." She turned to leave again. This time, no one stopped her.   
  
*****   
  
"Hank, could you catch a ride with Scott?" Bobby asked. "I've got some stuff I gotta do." Hank nodded.   
  
"Just don't pester the girl too much, Robert."  
  
Bobby drove along, searching the sidewalks for the small, dusky figure that was Linda Johanson. He knew she hadn't taken a car; he'd seen her walking from the parking lot, hands shoved into her pockets and guitar hung over her shoulder. After a few minutes of searching he found her moving briskly along, her black trenchcoat flapping around her ankles.   
  
"Hey," he called out to her, pulling over. She looked up at him. "Need a ride?"   
  
She eyed him warily. "Why?" He shrugged.   
  
"Dunno," he answered. "You just look like you could use one."   
  
"I was always taught not to take rides from strangers," she told him. Bobby leaned across the passenger seat and stretched his hand out the window.   
  
"I'm Bobby Drake, I'm a--"   
  
"Friend of Remy's, I know," she said, shaking his hand. "Why else would I not get into the car with you?"   
  
"I'm not really a friend of his," he said, correcting himself. "More of a co-worker. He doesn't like me too much." Her eyebrows raised in interest.   
  
"Really?" It sounded like more of a statement than a question. She watched him thoughtfully for a few seconds, then nodded and climbed into the car.   
  
The ride was basically silent, save Linda's directions, which only consisted of the occasional "go left" or "turn right" anyway. After about ten minutes, she told him to pull over in front of a run-down apartment complex in a bad part of town. She hopped out of the car and turned around to face him.   
  
"Thanks," she said somewhat reluctantly.   
  
"Any time."   
  
"You wanna come in for coffee or somethin'?" Bobby shrugged.   
  
"S'long as it's not any trouble."   
  
"Naw, it's nothin'. C'mon in." Bobby followed her up three rickety, termite-infested stairs to a small yet amazingly well-kept apartment. The front room was a combination living room and kitchen, containing an old beige sofa, a small television playing a Bugs Bunny cartoon, a refrigerator, a fold-out card table with four mismatched chairs, a sink, and an antique microwave that looked to be from about 1974. What was meant to be a large closet had been turned into the daughter's room, with a twin bed and a dresser. The main bedroom was almost as small as the makeshift one, and had in it a double bed, a small closet, a writing desk, and peeling wallpaper. The bathroom was tiny as well, being about five by five feet.   
  
The second they were inside the apartment, Bobby heard a squeal and saw a little girl with freckles and curly red hair, about nine or ten years old, racing towards them. "Mommeeeeeeeeeeee!" she yelled, running into Linda's outstretched arms. "You're home!"   
  
"Hey, baby," Linda cooed, hugging her as though they hadn't been together in weeks. "Did you miss me?"   
  
"Uh huh," came the muffled reply. "Mommy, when're you gonna be home at night?" Linda smiled sadly.   
  
"I don't know, sweetie." She glanced up and did a double-take as though she'd only just noticed Bobby standing in the doorway. "Oh! Honey, this is my friend Bobby. Bobby, this is my daughter, Amber." Amber waved at him cheerfully, and Bobby waved back. A man who looked to be about seventeen entered the room.   
  
"She refused to go to bed 'till you came home," he explained helplessly. Linda gave him a tired, understanding smile.   
  
"She tends to do that with the other babysitters, too. How much is it I owe you?"   
  
After paying the sitter and sending her daughter off to bed, Linda began making coffee while Bobby somehow chatted with her and watched cartoons at the same time.   
  
"I've got two jobs," she told him. "Sundays and weeknights I waitress at the Cajun Kitchen down on State Street, and weekdays I work at the Vons at the Five Points shopping center."   
  
"What about the club?"   
  
"That's just something I do for fun. I get a hundred bucks a show, but they only need me Fridays."  
  
There was a short silence between the two of them while Bobby thought of something else to say. "How old is she? Amber, I mean." Linda smiled, albeit somewhat sadly, at the mere mention of her daughter's name.   
  
"Eight, though she's a lot smarter than the other kids in her grade. I'd send her to a special school, but..." She left the sentance hanging, not wanting to talk about her obvious financial situation. Bobby's sense of tact told him not to further pursue the matter, and for once, he listened. There was something else he'd been wanting to know, anyway.   
  
"You don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I was just wond'ring... What did Remy do to you, exactly?" Linda sighed. Bobby couldn't tell if it was from telling the story too many times, or not being able to tell it enough.   
  
"Remy was twenty-one, I was seventeen. I'd just run away from home a few months earlier, after my parents found out I was a mutant. I somehow got various bars, clubs, and even stripper joints to pay me about fifty bucks to sing there. I made just enough cash to eat, stay in a cheap motel, and move on to the next town. People seemed to love my singing, and I started noticing that I had fans who seemed to follow me from place to place, just to hear me sing. One of those fans being Remy LeBeau.   
  
"He came to three or four shows in a row before he confronted me, spouting all this bull about how beautiful I was and how I had an incredible voice."   
  
"You *do* have a nice voice," Bobby pointed out helpfully. She smiled wanly.   
  
"Well, that's very sweet of you, but it's beside the point. Anyway, I was just a naive little girl, and I believed him. We started dating, and eventually saved up enough money to get a one-room flat together. The day we moved in was the day he told me he loved me. Again, I believed him, and I told him I loved him, too." She paused and smiled sadly, as if she still believed him. As if she still loved him back. She shook her head and continued.   
  
"That night, he made love to me, although that term doesn't really make sense. He never loved me. I figured it would be a good idea to take a pregnancy test, so I did. In fact, I took four. All of them were positive. I told Remy, and he just kinda blinked and said, 'Okay.' I remember hugging him and being happy that he wasn't angry with me. The next morning, he was gone, along with all his stuff and half of mine, too. And the two hundred dollars we had saved up. I waited for him to come back for three weeks before the landlord kicked me out." She handed Bobby a mug of black coffee and sat down across from him at the kitchen table.   
  
Bobby sipped his coffee, slowly and carefully, trying to think of something to say. She looked so hurt as she sat there, running her finger along the rim of her mug and gazing at an imaginary spot somewhere over Bobby's shoulder. She looked lost, wistful. She looked old. A lone figure at the kitchen table. Bobby cleared his throat.   
  
"Well, you could've gotten a--"   
  
"A what?" she asked, her tone harsh, looking as though it had suggested it a few too many times. "An abortion?" She shook her head, smiling sardonically. "No, you see, I'm not like Remy. I'm not willing to ruin someone else's life just because it's an inconvenience to mine." Bobby put his hands in front of him with the palms facing out, a sign of defeat and regret for bringing it up.   
  
"Okay, okay, no need to bite my head off." She snorted a laugh. Bobby cleared his throat again. "So what did you do?"  
  
"Well, I was back on the road, a travelling bar singer, until I had enough saved up to get this apartment. I had a coupla boyfriends, but none of 'em stayed after they found out about Amber. I haven't been on a date in... six years." Bobby's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. Sure, everyone has their relationship problems, but... geese, six years?  
  
"That's... a long time." She shrugged noncommitedly.   
  
"I don't really see the point in dating when every single guy dumps me anyway. They can't love Amber, they can't love me, I can't love them. It all works out okay in the end." Right at that moment, Amber came running into the room, clad in a large t-shirt and carrying a ratty stuffed tiger.   
  
"Mommy, are you gonna tell me a story tonight?" Linda smiled lovingly at her daughter.   
  
"Sure, sweetie. I'll be in there in just a minute." Amber crossed her arms and pouted her lower lip.   
  
"You always say that, and I'm always asleep before you get there. Can't I stay in here with you?" Linda sighed, though she was still smiling. How was she supposed to resist that?   
  
"Sure, baby. Come sit down with us." Instead of pulling up a chair, however, the child crawled into Bobby's lap.   
  
"Whoa, there, kiddo!" Bobby cried, laughing. Linda gaped at her daughter.  
  
"Amber! You don't do that to strangers!"   
  
"But he's not a stranger, Mommy," the tiny redhead corrected. "You said he was your friend."   
  
"Yup, and that makes me your friend, too!" Bobby said, tickling her playfully. She squealed and giggled, not quite trying her hardest to evade him. Amber grinned. Bobby grinned. Linda grinned. She had finally found a friend who not only didn't care about the fact that she had a daughter, but actually seemed to like it. For the first time since she could remember, Linda gave in to a real, genuine laugh.   
  
*****   
  
Bobby didn't get home until after midnight, when the mansion was dark and most of the residents had gone to bed. He came through the front door, shut it behind him, and turned around. Right into Remy.   
  
He was still slightly pale-looking, and his eyes looked older. Not as old as Linda's eyes, but older. His face was slightly drawn, and his hair was certianly not as pristine as usual. Apparently, he'd been having a stressful night.   
  
Remy looked down at him, silently chewing his lip as though he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure how to word it. "How is she?" he asked after a few minutes. Bobby looked up at him, eyes filled with a controlled anger and barely covered disgust.   
  
"Fine," he replied flatly. Remy was silent for a bit longer before asking another, more important question.   
  
"How is... um..." He fumbled for the right words, and Bobby finished for him.   
  
"Oh, you mean Amber, your daughter?" he asked angrily, a sarcastic tone gracing his voice. "She's fantastic. Not only is she one of the sweetest, prettiest eight-year-olds I've ever met, she's also one of the smartest in her grade. Linda wants to send her to a special school but she can barely afford the two-room appartment they live in right now. Your daughter is currently sleeping in a closet." By the end of the sentance, Bobby was almost shouting. Remy kept that same tired, wary, why-are-you-doing-this-to-me look on his face the entire time. Bobby shook his head.   
  
"You have no idea what you've done to them." He gave Remy one last look of distaste before shaking his head again and heading to his room, leaving Remy to stand in the hall, a lone figure in the dark. 


End file.
